


Wordplay

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boss/Employee Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4980118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Felix reads in the paper that Malcolm Cassidy - world-famous author of the dark and fantastical <i>Neverlander</i> series - is looking for an assistant, he jumps at the opportunity. But, one surprise turns into another, and Felix realizes that he really has no idea just what he'd applied for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that I've had at the back of my mind for a very long time. And today I just thought, what the hell, might as well publish it. ;) 
> 
> This is going to be different than what I normally do. Namely, that it isn't even close to being completely written. I started this without an outline but, a few hours after publishing I ended up getting a loose outline written so I do know where it's going. But updates might take a little while due to the nature of this kind of uploading. Especially since I'm still working on a few other projects as well. Thank you for putting up with me and I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Special thanks to those who read my early drafts of this: **z0mbieshake** and **pandasushiroll!**
> 
> And, now, without further ado, please enjoy! xoxo

Felix hasn't been this nervous standing on a doorstep in his life. Not in front of his lawyer's office. Not in front of the courthouse. Not in front of the detention center. This is a new sort of anxiety altogether. From the way his palms sweat, from the way he's already reworked every possible conversation in his mind, all the ways it could conceivably go wrong. He isn't by nature a very anxious boy, but this doorstep has him trembling.

He mutters to himself, still caged inside his skull, trying to figure out the best way to approach. He assumes sentiments like  _I'm your biggest fan_ won't be welcome for their jarring nature, but surely he should know that Felix likes his work. Loves it. Is borderline obsessive.

Maybe he should know that Felix has a copy of  _Dreamshade_ that's crumbling apart at the binding, that the pages are perpetually curled from ecstatic hands gripping at them too hard in needing to know what's coming next.

-or perhaps he shouldn't say a word about it. Simply let his resume, pathetic though it is, speak for him.

But he should've gotten better references. Maybe taken a few more intensive courses when he was out. Gotten a better job - what reason would there be to hire a  _waiter?_ He frowns, looking down at the black ink on cardstock. It looked fine when he printed it off, polished and professional. But now it looks pathetic. Why did he choose  _that_ adjective…

His throat tightens and he tries to swallow the lump down. It really is a scrappy, pathetic resume. Laughably bad.

Oh, shit, what if  _he_  laughs at him? Felix doesn't know if he could take that. He considers turning back. No. That'd be cowardly. You can call Felix a lot of things, but he'd be damned if someone would try to call him chicken.

So before he can try to turn back, he knocks.

_Shit. Shit. Shitshitshitshit._

Now would be the ideal time to bolt down the stairwell and vomit in the dumpster. But the door swings open.

And it's not at all what Felix expected.

There's a kid on the other side of the door, leaning on the frame. An incredibly handsome kid, maybe around twenty, in denims and a henley. Felix blinks a few times before realizing how he's standing there looking like a moron. Damn. Wrong address.

Or perhaps this is fate stepping in and preventing him from making a dick of himself in front of the man who changed his life.

But this  _is_ the address from the ad.

"Um," He musters up his voice. "Is this the office of Malcolm Cassidy?"

The kid stares at him a minute, gaping; Felix feels oddly like he's going through the metal detectors again, or like he did under his parole officer's steely glares. But then the guy blinks a few times before leaning on the door with one arm. "Office and residence. What'd y'want?"

He has an accent. Similar to Cassidy's, Felix thinks, at least if his spellings and the shoddily slapped together biography on the inside jacket of his hardcovers are any indication. Felix doesn't think Cassidy has children, but perhaps this is a nephew or cousin. Or perhaps there's no relation; answering doors like this at the less swanky end of town might be the job of an assistant. Maybe Malcolm Cassidy imported his PA all the way from Britain.

Felix feels his heart stammer. He throws out his resume at arm's length. "I'm here about the internship position."

The boy arches his brow, and Felix really doesn't appreciate the way his body is proving himself wrong with all his estimates about how fast his heart can beat. "Really."

"Yeah."

Felix doesn't like the way the boy just _stares_ at him.

Oh, shit, what if this kid's the intern and Felix was two days too late? He should've declined that double shift yesterday. He could've made it here sooner.

But then the boy smiles at him, and it's funny how that makes him even more nervous, but all that's blown out of the water with the palpitations when he steps further into the room, leaving the door wide open, "Well, come on in, then."

Felix doesn't know what he expected, but not a studio apartment with chipping paint all over the place. It's got bookshelves full, but they're covered in dust. There's a mattress on the floor against a far wall, under an array of papers and post-its pinned and nailed to the wall. He's instructed by the boy to have a seat on the sofa, and when he obliges, it sinks underneath his weight. The boy pulls up a chair and straddles it backwards. His forearms rest on the back slats.

"Uh," Felix stammers, holding out the piece of abominable cardstock once again. Now or never. "Here's my resume."

The kid takes it from his hands without breaking eye contact. It's horribly awkward, and Felix ducks his gaze into his hands. He never knew what it'd feel like to sit in the very place where Malcolm Cassidy constructed and molded his Neverlander series - a wonderfully dark depiction of a clan of Boys presiding over a magical island- but he hardly imagined he'd feel this scrutinized.

" _Felix Travers."_ The boy reads, almost softly. But then he sniggers and Felix feels himself blanche. "Your name is  _Felix_?"

Felix nods and allows a small grin to erupt from the boy's jovial tone. He figures he knows the joke that might be coming. Something about the second-in-command Lost One from the stories. A tall blond kid with a scar on his face. Felix is currently batting two for three on that.

But then he swears the kid  _winks_ at him when he says, "Mine's Peter."

"It's not," Felix says before he can stop himself or wonder when the interview will begin. If he'll finally see Mr. Cassidy himself.

"Is so. Just like yours is Felix." He cocks his head. "Have you... _read_ the books?"

Felix tries to lower the zeal with which he initially nods. He's read the books time and time again. Ever since his stint in juvie, where he'd fallen headfirst into the dark islands, full of murder and mayhem and intrigue, a very morally grey protagonist. Some might even say evil.

"What'd you think?" The boy - Peter - asks, chewing on his lip.

"They're…" Felix pauses, wondering if it's a trap. It seems as though this Peter kid is more interested in chatting than conducting an interview. "Amazing."

"So you're here to get your big shot with your favorite author, then?"

Felix turns red. "No _." Yes_. "It's just...I knew I'd regret not taking this opportunity."

"And do you like him?"

Felix halts at the oddity of the question. Something prickles in his stomach and he can only interpret it as irritation in this kid for just battering around and not actually conducting an interview like an  _adult_. "Mr. Cassidy?"

"No." Peter narrows his eyes. "Pan."

"He's...a character in the books."

"But do you like him?"

"You're messing with me." Felix sighs. This guy is definitely the intern - he just invited Felix in to mess with him. He stands abruptly. "The position is full. Isn't it?" 

Peter looks up at him with electric green eyes, blaring wide. "It just so  _happens_ that the position isn't full. And I'll interview you however I like."

"You haven't even looked at my resume for more than two seconds."

"Do you want this internship or not?"

Felix stops. He can feel the blush on his cheeks and ears and he wants to hide it. "I just blew it, didn't I?"

"Not at all." Peter's grin grows wider as Felix stares at him in shock. He stands from the chair, throwing it back into place underneath a desk, and begins to meander around the room, gesturing about. "This position you're going for. You'll get stipends from the publisher, but I'll have no business in that; take it up with them. Duties range from stenography to organizing storyboards and maintaining appointments and keeping a schedule to getting groceries and housekeeping. Basically you're the bottom bitch. Still interested?"

Felix nods, only a little distracted by the way Peter pronounced 'schedule.' Not that he'll ever admit that.

"Thought you might be." Peter grins and before Felix can ask, he opens his palms to the room. "All right. You start tomorrow."

"Can you do that?" Felix lets it out before he realizes he probably should've just shook hands and hauled ass out of there.

"What?"

"Don't you have to, I dunno, review it with Mr. Cassidy or something?"

Peter cocks his brow again, and lets out a small breathy laugh from his chest. "I thought I'd made this clear earlier."

Felix blinks.

And Peter is apparently getting a kick out of this, because he laughs again and steps in closer. "I'm Malcolm Cassidy."

What.

Peter is definitely fucking with him.

Malcolm Cassidy, according to the biographies, lived in Scotland for the first few decades of his life (already that makes him older than Peter) before moving to the States and holed up in the Bronx until he got signed with Second Star Publishers and began to create the most epic adventure the world had ever seen since the fucking Odyssey.

This kid didn't fit the mold at all. Hell, his name probably wasn't even Peter. He was just taking advantage of the situation to make Felix feel like a fool.

Drawing this conclusion, he glares.

Peter frowns. "You know, there's nothing quite as un-enticing as people who don't believe me."

The sentence structure gives it away.

Well fuck.

He really  _is_ Malcolm Cassidy.

Felix can feel his ears get hot. "Oh fuck."

Peter's reaction is oddly congenial. He steps forward, and they're suddenly spaced the same way two close friends would be, close, almost chest-to-chest. It's odd and only a little uncomfortable due to the fact that when Pan said that line of dialogue in the third book, he'd strangled a man two seconds later. But Peter shows his teeth in a grin that's disturbingly warm.

"Like I said, you start tomorrow. Ten AM. Bring me breakfast. I like eggs."

Felix nods briskly and forgets to shake hands on the way out, dashing down the stairs before he could change his mind and chalking it up to the most bizarre first encounter he's ever had.


	2. Chapter 2

Felix lives about an hour away from the city. That makes it an hour and a half by bus. It's past suppertime when he finally makes it back, mind still swirling around that first encounter with Peter. He only just pushes the door open before he's stumbling back, senses overwhelmed by something sweet and sticky.

A swirled heap of caramel frosting flung at his nose. He's almost dizzy from the way four layers of sugar attack his olfactory senses, and he skids back from the shock.

With a new vantage point, Felix blinks. He wipes the sticky sugary whip from the corner of his nostril with his thumb. Ruby's standing on the other side of the door and braces a side table with one hand. The rug in the center of the floor is suspect for this scenario; folded up in the corners. Ruby grunts, lips pulled back across her face, standing in a prolonged wince. She's holding a plate with a single large cupcake, enormous pile of frosting scraped out from where they now stick to Felix's nose.

He smears the sugar away, before he shifts his eyes to glare at Ruby. Her grimace moves, evolves into a pout, a wordless plea, " _In case you're planning to chew me out for this, I want to remind you I'm_ adorable."

With a roll to the eyes, Felix recovers from his fall and crosses over into the living room. All he says is "You're quite the waitress."

"I'm off the clock." Ruby wrinkles her nose with her smile and shoves the plate of lopsided cupcake into Felix's hands. "I can be as clumsy as I want."

Felix eyes the plate, wistful expression smacked across his face as he looks at the heap of icing. It'd probably taken hours to perfect the piping. He abandoned his shoes on the rug when he sees Granny glance at him from her armchair. Upon taking a seat and balancing the plate on his knee, Felix twists his head to see Ruby. She's curled up in the felt throw on the opposite end of the couch, resting her head on her knuckles.

"What's the occasion?" He asks once the room falls into a comfortable silence, breaks it in half with his hands and watches the frosting fall on the plate.

"These were extras from the diner.  _That_ one was supposed to be mine," Ruby shrugs, pulling out a second cupcake from a white box, covered under a blanket of frosting. "But considering it went up your nose, you can have it."

She collapses in an unceremonious pile on the couch, pretzel-legged, and gestures over to the other side. Felix takes the seat she's offering, absently scraping the mountain of frosting off the cake as he does so.

"Well?" Ruby asks. "How'd the interview go?"

Felix pauses. He takes a moment to break the cupcake in half in his hands before mumbling out, "I got the job."

Ruby starts to rise from her seat before the light from her grin fades. "Okay. Something's up. You've been in love with this guy for years and now that you get to work under him you're just... _normal."_

"I'm not in love with him."

"Oh, come on Felix, I've seen your blog." Ruby waves her hand. "What happened?"

Felix pauses, stares at his cupcake. " I went to his office...his apartment..."

"Oh God. Did something happen?"

Granny looks up sharply over her glasses. "Do I need to call the cops?"

"No, you don't." Felix shakes his head. He knows better than to roll his eyes whenever Granny's concerned, and so he swallows down the urge. "But he's…different." He divides the cake in his hands in half again and bites in, the chocolate cake sweet on his tongue.

Ruby offers him a sympathetic grin. "They say not to meet your heroes."

"He's my age." Felix mumbles. "He's some sort of stuck up child prodigy. I think he wants a servant more than an assistant."

"Do you still want to work for him?" Granny peers out from under her glasses, no-nonsense clanking in her knitting needles.

To that, Felix nods, scraping the icing off a hunk of the cuptake.

"Well then, I think you better just do what you need to do." Granny nods. "Whether that's staying and working for him or walking out."

Felix's eyes wander down to the coffee table, the wet ring left under a glass of water from earlier in the day hadn't yet evaporated.

Ruby follows his eyes and, with that sixth sense of hers, she can guess. "You don't  _want_ to, do you?"

"No one ever wants to quit." Felix's eyes still fix on the water ring but then, at the insistence of two pairs of eyes trained on him, he looks up.

"If it's so bad that you need to complain after the interview," Granny replies, "It can't really mean that much to you."

"Well  _maybe_ ," Ruby shakes her head towards her grandmother. "Felix has a reason to want to work for him. It's still his favorite book - and now he gets to be part of it."

"Or it's work experience." Felix mutters, placing the cupcake on the plate and leaning back on the couch.

"Don't see why both can't be true."

 

* * *

 

 

Felix is a permanent resident of the Bed and Breakfast. Has been ever since he got out. Provided he'd be willing to repaper the room when he eventually moved out, Granny allowed him to strip the floaral patterns off the wall and paint over it. He's been living here for five years and carries traces of him in the scuffs on the softwood floor, the paints and sketchpads and canvases strewn all over the dresser on one side, the old boxy TV in a corner, the bookshelf filled with nothing but Malcolm Cassidy's Neverlander series.

Or. Well.

That Peter kid's Neverlander series.

It sits weirdly in Felix's mind and he stalks slowly over to his bookshelf. He's got three different editions in hardcover. The original softcover. A photocopy of the manuscript he won on EBay for $400. He's got each of the books in a language he cannot read: Czech translation of  _Dreamshade,_ the Spanish translation of  _Dark Hollow,_ the Korean translation of  _Echo_ and the French translation of  _Skull Rock._  The signed edition of  _Skull Rock_ that he'd ordered for the midnight release at Barnes & Noble. And, of course, on his bedstead, there's the curling, falling apart copy of  _Dreamshade;_ the very one that started it all, that got him through his year of detention.

It sends a funny taste to his mouth. After all this time. He'd been so nervous this morning that he'd barely been able to choke down breakfast, wondering what it'd be like, how the interview would go.

And then it turns around and violates every last one of his expectations.

Fingers wrapping around the spine of the book, floppy and overused, Felix frowns and lifts it up to his face.

For a moment, the image flashes in front of his face: throwing the bookshelf over on itself, tossing the book against the door so that it would crack in half.

But he won't. Just because he didn't get off on the right foot with Peter doesn't make his work any less brilliant. It doesn't mean that it shouldn't be revered and respected like he always has. If anything, it's almost more convincing. Aren't most great artists a little  _abrasive?_

Subdued into himself, Felix kicks off his shoes and lies down on his bed. Leaning against the headboard, he cracks the tome open. Might as well get one more read-through in; remind himself why it's so Important.

 

> _From his place secluded in the dark, Pan sat - quietly twitching, fingers curled 'round his pipes. He fancied it something like a dagger. Something like the thread of gossamer the spider spun to entrap his fly. The nest of rags the feline crouched behind in wanton patience of his mouse._
> 
> _And then, with a crackle of light slipping from under a great mahogany door, Pan saw him. The tall boy, hair mangled in snarls courtesy of his own nervous fist. This clothes were fine, silk spun with golden thread. The poetry was there, although Pan chose to ignore it._
> 
> _Indeed, he chose to ignore the poetry for there was some spark superseding it. This boy, the way he stomped through the rain, drenching himself in some inane need to Get Away. He was tall and intimidating in stature, thin as a wisp with the sting of a whip. His mind abuzz with curses and criticism - and the complete lack of direction. Yes, yes, yes. This boy was already so very lost, and almost ready to be perfect._
> 
> _With the satisfaction in himself, quite fancying he could raise the dead from the ground, Pan lifted his pipes to his lip and carried a low note through the forest._
> 
> _And the moth flew into the flame._
> 
> _\- Dreamshade_  byMalcolm Cassidy. Chapter 3.  


	3. Chapter 3

He shows up, fifteen minutes late with a thermos under his arm of coffee from Granny's. For Peter, he has a paper cup of some overpriced brand name cappuccino, an egg sandwich, and a scone wrapped tightly in a white paper bag. Not the best way to start his first day. Peter's going to fire him for sure. Felix isn't entirely sure why that worries him as much as it does, but he can't help but gnaw on his cheek as he climbs up to the third floor to knock on Peter's door.

A point of personal pride, maybe? An omen that he's destined to keep on falling back into old habits?

Or, maybe, it's more in tune to what Ruby pointed out the night before: Felix still wants to be a part of his favorite books.

It sounds so silly and so absurd that it's no wonder the chance snaps open and shut as quickly as it had. Felix punctuates his knocks with a sigh and waits a few moments before the door swings open.

Felix braces himself for a lecture or termination of employment around the same time Peter's fingers dart over the buttons in a line on his chest, securing them. And then it comes: "You know you're late, right?"

There's got to be an easier way to listen to Peter, some way that doesn't convince Felix his stomach is going to jump up his throat. He nods.

Peter narrows his eyes, "Do you have a good  _reason?"_

No, not really. But his eyes flash with enough light to ignite a wick at the bottom of Felix's gut.

Felix offers the paper cup to Peter. He jostles his arms up to bring the white paper bag into Peter's line of vision. "Scone."

For a snap of a moment, Peter's eyes narrow. And then he scoffs, the puff of air condenses into a grin, "You'd impress me more by showing up on time."

"Who's saying I'm trying to-"

"Of course you are." Peter flexes his fingers in the air to wave Felix in and collapses on the bed across the way, "Everyone always kisses their boss's arse on the first day."

Felix stops, presses his lips together and looks down at the floor. "Should I apologize," Felix mutters, "For being so obvious?"

It seems to be the right thing to say, and Peter only further cements that with his laugh, a sharp, sudden sound. Halfway like a cough but with a breathy timbre to the noise. Felix finds himself smiling at it when he inches his way through the door.

Peter's nonchalant refrain continues: "Never say you're sorry to me. I'm an 'actions speak louder than words' type."

Felix's lips twist up. It's been called a grimace before, although he only registers it as a grin. "Ironic."

"Isn't it?" Peter laughs again. Felix has to pretend to not notice the way his back arches just so slightly above the mattress when he does so. His leg shoots up into the air, oddly enough, toes curled towards a corner. "First off, why don't you go into the kitchen and get it sorted?"

It's only now that Felix realizes that the kick was more of a point, into the little kitchen alcove. He stops, places the cup on the dresser and takes a sip from his thermos. "You want me to clean your kitchen?"

"Isn't that what I just said?" Peter quirks a brow, lowering his leg a little too slow, before pulling in a MacBook from the nightstand. "The door's over there if you don't want this job. Or any of the amenities that come with it. Go back to pouring coffee and community service if you want."

Felix chews on his cheek and ducks his head. He starts to mumble an apology but sucks the words back down his throat again. "I'll get on that."

It might be a trick of the light, but it almost looks like Peter only smirks in reply as Felix shuffles across the room to the kitchen alcove. The tile on the floor is dark, but still doesn't look like it's ever seen a good sweeping. There aren't many dishes in the sink save for an empty wine bottle facedown and a few crushed Coke cans, but the stove is covered in pots and pans, crusted pizza sauce and cold broths that Felix doesn't know how old it is.

The irony isn't lost to Felix that if he'd wanted to clean a kitchen he could have just stayed home. But he had to go through with this.

He didn't want to wait on tables at Granny's the rest of his life. Experience was part of growing up and getting a leg up in the world. And if that meant doing Peter's dishes, he'd roll up his sleeves and scald his forearms on dishwater.

 

 

Felix is wiping down the grime and moldy food from the inner rim of the garbage disposal, nearly finished, when Peter finally speaks.

"You're not much of a detail person, are you?"

Felix blinks, looks around himself in the kitchen for something he overlooked. Dishes are drying on the rack, the trash waits on the fire escape for Felix to haul it to the curb at the end of the day, he's swept and the crevices on the tile aren't caked with grime anymore. He looks up, the question ready on his tongue: "What do you mean?"

He gets it when he sees Peter, still lying on his mattress, with a piece of cardstock in his hand.

Peter snickers. "Your resume."

"What about it?" Felix can feel his cheeks flush, his heart stammers. He did something wrong. He always does something wrong. Dammit -

"It says here that you maintained a four-point all through your high school career," Peter draws one perfectly sculpted finger over the letters - his hand's so delicate Felix can imagine he's trying to feel the ridges of the print. "And yet when it comes to your certifications, you've got a GED."

"What?" Felix doesn't mean to snap, but it slides off his tongue so easily. "You've got to be a college graduate to do your dishes?"

"It's preferable," Peter winks and Felix can't help himself from turning the corners of his lips upward. But then Peter continues: "Thing is, though, if you were tired of the American high school system, you had more appealing alternatives."

"Such as?"

This seems to pique Peter's attention, the boy slides up - smooth and strong in one graceful movement. He quirks a brow. "Going abroad. Proficiency exams. Early graduation."

"Exchange is expensive," Felix says, struggling to maintain eye contact as Peter continues to step forwards and bends over the countertop - leaning in and titling his head. But he manages to go on with "Testing out of everything takes too long. The GED was like a band-aid in comparison."

"But that isn't all. Can't be." Peter's eyes twinkle, drinking in the mystery. "So the question is why you left."

"High school sucks," Felix offers, standing his ground.

"Maybe. But that's not it. Something happened. Don't lie; you're obvious when you lie." And when Felix looks back at him, Peter laughs. "I can tell you're dodging."

There's a part of Felix that wants to look back into the sink and resume scrubbing. But there's a larger, more emphasized and more recently conditioned, part of him that makes him stand stagnant.

"So what was it?"

For a moment, there's nothing; only the hustle and bustle of the street below moving and rolling in the way New York City tends to move and roll.

Peter breaks the silence: "Do you have a kid?"

Felix can't help it; his jaw literally drops. "No."

With a laugh Peter leans forward again. "Safe to assume you didn't run off to get married then?"

"Very safe."

"And the diner's the only previous work on your resume. And since you started busing and couldn't support yourself full time on that, and since Eugenia Lucas is so willing to let you go part time to play with me, I can rule out that you had to work as the reason. That leaves me with three options. Want to know what they are?"

At this point, Felix can feel something creeping up his spine. Something that tells him he's Found Out. And so, rather than let Peter see him in a disarray so early on in his employment, he sighs. "I don't think you can ask these questions."

"Can't I?" Peter's voice goes low and his eyes spark. He looks, above all else,  _amused_ at the interjection.

And so the only thing Felix can feel when he answers is  _confidence._ "No."

Felix knows that Peter can have any array of reactions right now. But he's still got a smile on his face, happily leaning forward onto his elbows over the kitchen counter.

"Suit yourself." Peter grins through sharp-looking teeth. "I'll just have to make a game of finding out. And you know me and games."

It's perplexing and Felix blinks, several times over, before he loses the confidence that's kept him standing in the kitchen with Peter - kept him in his gaze. "I don't know you at all."

" _Details,_ Felix," Peter says, emphasizing the X like it's a taste on his tongue. "Learn to read between the lines. There's a... _little piece_ of me in everything I've ever written. I would have thought that  _you,_ of all people, would've been hoping for that."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_"Oh come on, man. You're the most depressing thing I've seen all day. And we're in prison." Rufio groaned, plopping down beside Felix on the hard mattress of the cell block they shared. "Don't you want to do anything?"_

_Felix shrugged, staring at the white concrete blocks, not bothering to make eye contact with his cellmate. It wasn't worth it. Nothing was worth it. Just a white room and nobody who cared and nobody to care about. Game Over at sixteen. How pathetic was that?_

_Rufio tried again. "Want me to teach you how to dye your hair with Kool-Aid packets?"_

_All Felix could think to do, really, was close his eyes. Maybe the disruption would go away. Felix could never figure out why Rufio was always hovering; Rufio'd already been in for a year, had two more to go. Surely Felix, with his one year max, should have just been a blip on his radar? Why did he care? Didn't he have his own prison-friends to go and annoy?_

_And that's when Rufio stood up, reached into his locker, and basically changed the world as Felix knew it._

_"You need a distraction or somethin'. Here," He flung a thick paperback onto Felix's bed. "My penpal sent it to me for my birthday last year. Just. Read it, okay?"_

_Felix sent a deadpan look up to the ceiling, wondered how heavy the book was or if it was just his mind imagining a black hole underneath his mattress…_

_"If I don't see some dog-eared pages on that thing when I get back from the rec room," Rufio said, rolling his shoulders and heading out. "Or else I'm taking your Jell-O for a week. Get it?"_

_He'd checked for guards nearby before he'd offered the threat, but as it turns out, it was all in vain. For the next three days, he devoured the tale, using every scrap of free time allotted in the schedule to drink it in as fully as he could. And a week after that, it was Felix who sat down on Rufio's bed._

" _What was that about dying your hair with Kool-Aid?"_

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a very, very, very slight mention of Darling Pan in this chapter. Like microscopic. Just a head's up.

There was a part of Felix that hoped Peter's behavior was an initiation of some sort. Some kind of juvenile hazing that'd be over and done with by the end of the week. But it's Saturday night and, as Felix is sitting on his own bed with a sketchpad in his hands, he knows that the hard, bold, angry lines of graphite on the paper tell more about his day than he ever could have. Peter hasn't even written anything yet. He sits on his MacBook or fiddles with cards or goes out for nondescript amounts of time doing who-knows-what while Felix tackles his heavy chore list.

Granted. He should have known this was coming. Peter had literally told him he'd be the bottom bitch in the interview.

There's a growl hidden in Felix somewhere that he can't bring himself to vocalize, and so, looking briefly at his phone for reference, he puts more pressure on his pencil, the lines get harsher. It's a decent equivalent, if nothing else.

He's still working on the lines, any attempt at shading is merely a distant goal on the far, far horizon, when a knock comes to his door.

"Come in," He calls, lifting his pencil from the paper lest he make an unintentional mark.

Ruby opens the door in what is, quite possibly, the tightest dress Felix has seen since last Friday night. Her hair's all gussied up, steaks of red through it, lips rouged and lined. Her look is incomplete however; the eyeshadow is piled on high and dark but isn't bold enough to make the statement she's likely looking for.

"Eyeliner?" He asks, placing the book and pencil on the bedstead just under the fraying copy of  _Dreamshade._

"Please. I'm all out." Ruby nods, entering in the room in her slippers. That's, quite possibly, the most off-color part. But Felix knows how Granny will react if Ruby wears her clubbing shoes inside. As Felix rummages in his drawers, Ruby makes herself at home at the foot of his bed.

"I don't have any of the liquid stuff you like."

"Pencil's good." Ruby shrugs. "You coming to the Rabbit Hole tonight?"

Felix shakes his head. "Thomas's."

"Are you sure? You've been inside somebody's house all day. Don't you want to get out?"

"No."

"All right," And just from her tone Felix can tell she's leaning on the heels of her palm. "Just know you'll be missed."

"Lacey would disagree," Felix mutters, returning with a small black pencil in hand.

Ruby accepts the proffered makeup and says, "Lacey can deal with it."

"I'm going to Thomas's."

Felix doesn't want to say it's because Peter requested he come in for the weekend and that he can't afford to be out late. He knows what kind of reaction that would get from his friend, and so he lets the more anti-climactic activity cover for him.

"All right," Ruby stands abruptly as her phone pings. She looks at the text briefly and then turns back to her friend. "Text me if you change your mind before last call. I'll let you know if I'm still there."

"Will do," Felix says, picking up his sketchpad and saluting Ruby with his pencil, although he knows he won't take her up on her offer.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He wouldn't have thought he'd have so many options for a Friday night even a year ago. And now, he's got three. He could always stay home, repeat every other night this week and lie in his own exhaustion, lose $15 to Granny in poker and then decide to break even with $5 and a couple of extra chores to be determined at a later date. On the other hand there is always the option to join Ruby at the Rabbit Hole. But that's loud and overstimulating and full of people who embody everything Felix resents. And so, it's time for the third - cliche, tired, predictable - option.

Video games at a friend's apartment. Felix hasn't gone over for Friday night in a little while, and so he brings a case of hard root beer as a peace offering.

It wasn't necessary. The entire apartment is open - except for the bedroom and bathroom - and the second Thomas opens the door, expecting Dominoes, everyone else looks over and waves Felix in.

Thomas's apartment is hodge-podged, for the most part. There are dagger marks in the leather couch, the refrigerator's all rusty, the walls are permanently smoke-stained and there's a cabinet blocking a shattered window his landlords have yet to fix (a break in attempt, diverted only because Thomas's larger-than-hell rottweiler, Tick Tock, has a set of teeth that'd be more at home on a crocodile). But, on the other hand, he's got the largest entertainment system of all their friends, two separate consoles and speakers that could blast all their eardrums out if they wanted to.

It's just a matter of priorities. Felix would do the same if he were on his own, he knew. It's more important to have items in one's house that you can play with and spend time with people over than simply having things that  _look nice._

Felix finds a spot on a beanbag chair probably left over from 2001 and gives the appropriate nods and gestures as his friends, one by one, greet him.

Nicholas curls up on the floor with Tick Tock and smiles wide, lifting the dog's enormous paw in mimicry of a wave. The dog himself looks uninterested once he realizes Felix doesn't have treats stowed in his pockets.

Cory's fiddling with his controler, wrapped up next to Simon and, it's almost creepy how they look and nod towards Felix at the same time. Though he supposes that happens if you spend enough time with anyone.

Thomas clasps Felix on the shoulder when he returns from the kitchen and sits on the couch next to Cory and Simon, and lifts his own controller again. Game play begins. There's shouting and swearing and mechanized bullets pelting against the enemy on the screen. Felix laughs along with the obscenities, cracking open a can of the hard root beer and passing it along to his friends.

"Simon, I swear if you distract me with  _drinking-"_ Cory yelled once the case reached them.

"Oh what, Cory," Thomas laughs from the other side of the couch whilst jamming buttons with his thumbs. "You can't do two things at once, wuss?"

"You try and play with someone drinking in front of your fac-ohdammit!" Cory threw up his controller in defeat, his digitalized patron crumpled in a bloody mess. He passes it to Simon and Thomas throws his to Nicholas.

Nicholas pats Tick Tock lovingly and then turns to the game, crying cheerfully as they dive headfirst into his (literal) Call of Duty.

From his seat on the couch, Thomas pulls a cell phone from his pocket and groans. "Shit."

Nicholas ticks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, not taking his eyes off gameplay. "What is it?"

"I have to take this. Someone grab the pizza if it comes."

Simon snickers, sending off grenades on the screen. "Is it the hooker?"

"Hey, that's not fair," Nicholas comes to the aid, jamming buttons. "She's a stripper!"

"Burlesque dancer!" Thomas shouts, seizing hold of the door to the bedroom, but not before Simon manages to snatch the last word.

"I've been to Mermaid's Lagoon and that's fucking stripping!"

Thomas proceeds to flip Simon off and switch into Boyfriend Voice in one fell swoop, latching the door shut as soon as he said as much as "Hey baby" in that lighter, sweeter voice.

Cory cocks a brow and turns to Simon. "Why were you at a women's burlesque lounge?"

"Jealous, Cory?"

The boy in question wrinkles his nose for a moment and then shakes his head. "Nah."

Simon frowns at his boyfriend and turns back to the screen; his character sprints forward and he says, "A friend asked me to cover his shift at the bar."

"Oh yeah! Jobs!" Nicholas calls out. "Felix. You were gonna apply for that thing in the newspaper. How was that?"

Felix snickers softly at the abrupt change in mood through the house depending on who was playing. He shrugs. "Well I got it."

"Awesome, man!" Nicholas says. "High five in ten. Just as soon as I kick Frenchy's ass."

" _Putain."_

To this, Felix snickers under his breath and allows himself to relax in his seat and drains the last of his drink to hide the kinder thoughts building in his head. Like how he misses just spending time with these guys. He can't remember, for the life of him, why he ever spends a weekend away from these jackasses.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Is this a bad time?"

It's Felix's first word when he opens the door to Peter's apartment and sees a complete stranger.

Not "What are you doing here?"

Or "Who the fuck are you?"

Or "How'd you get in?"

Or any of those possibilities.

No. Felix's gut reaction had been to assume he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. To offer to put himself out of the situation. As though he wasn't pathetic enough as it is.

But - thankfully - Peter had come to his aid, assuming (of course) that Felix had been speaking to him, although Felix hadn't even seen him at the time: "Not if you've got coffee it's not."

Felix nods and bolts through the door to hand Peter his paper cup. He stands there, in the lee of Peter's shoulder, where at least his silence comes across as respect, not stupidity. Peter doesn't move to introduce anyone, inhaling the drink and lifting it to his mouth.

Eventually the stranger speaks. "I'm Peter's brother, Neal."

"Felix."

"Never met any of Peter's friends before," Neal shuffles awkwardly in the living room. "Good to meet ya, man."

Before Felix can stop or consider how this might come across he makes the correction. "Intern."

"Huh?" Neal asked, face scrunching in on itself in a way that eerily resembles Tick Tock.

"I'm his intern."

Neal looked over to Peter. "You're taking interns now?"

"Wendy put an ad in the paper. Brats've been showing up for weeks." Peter shrugs, hoisting himself up into the kitchen island to assert status as the highest head in the apartment. "This one's got a pretty face."

If Felix would allow it from himself, he would growl. He really would.

Neal's lips twitch downwards and he puts a rough hand up to his mouth as though to question it but seems to have decided better because he says. "Speaking of Wendy."

"Oh, God, what about her?"

"She's been emailing you for weeks and you haven't responded."

Something... _unsettling_  creeps up Felix's spine.

"Haven't had anything interesting to say."

"You...really should check it."

The way Peter raises his head is so unbelievably haughty that Felix doesn't know if he wants to laugh or roll his eyes. "Why should I?"

"Your career?" Neal ventures. "She says Shadow's getting impatient. I figure you'd rather hear from her than him."

Peter rolls his eyes petulantly, sounding bratty and petulant and all the ugly things his characters always articulate with more eloquence. "Fine. I will. Are you quite done, now? I have company."

Neal bristles but holds his hands up in surrender. "I guess. You have everything you need?"

"Yeah. Have fun in Florida."

"All right." Neal starts to turn around but seems to think better of it. He looks at Felix skeptically for a moment but, upon receiving rejection from a pleading look to Peter he continues despite any reservation. "Hey, man, if Dad finds you...come down to Tallahassee."

 _Wait, what?_ Felix blinks and tries to figure out this peculiar string of conversation.

But Peter only rolls his eyes. "Don't think if we buddy up it'll be easier for the dogs to sniff us out?"

"It's on the table, okay?" Neal groans and turns away from the two of them. He nods abruptly to Felix. "Nice to meet ya."

For his part, Felix is surprised. He'd figured he'd blended into the wallpaper. Mind swarming, he tries to piece what'd happened together as Neal trudges out of the door, locking it behind him.

The second he's alone with Felix, Peter's eyes swtich, intensity boring into his skull. "You're not asking. I assume that was...incredibly confusing. So why aren't you asking?"

"If you want to tell me, you will." Felix shrugged. "Breakfast?"

Peter nods, brow quirked down, eyes trailing him as he turns into the kitchen alcove.

Felix would lie if you asked him, but it felt nice.

"Guess."

Felix looks up from the frying pan he's spraying with Pam, the question in his expression.

"What just happened? C'mon, let's have a guess. You were here practically the whole time."

"You should check your email more often?" Felix asks, watching the egg solidify into something white. Peter chortles in response. The heat from the stovetop hits Felix's face rather abruptly.

"Email's  _boring,"_ Peter shakes his head. "Except for swooning fan letters." He pauses, something hitting him. "You've probably sent a few. Haven't you?"

Felix turns pink and looks back down at the eggs. He continues his guessing game without prodding. "Wendy's been emailing you a lot."

"And who do you think Wendy  _is?"_

The grin on Peter's face is catty and snide and something drops in Felix's stomach. However, he considers. "Your manager?"

Peter snorts. "She wishes."

"...girlfriend?" Felix turns down the stove a few notches. He should probably switch the fan on, the eggs are making him feel queasy.

But Peter blurts out a laugh and the queasiness dies as soon as it was introduced. "She's my cover artist."

Felix isn't one for filler words, but he blurts out "Oh" anyway.

"I stopped sleeping with her a few years back." Peter amends.

Felix reaches up and flicks the fan to high.

 

* * *

 

After he's eaten, Felix sets about making the bed. He doesn't know when, but he's come to have a routine. He makes Peter breakfast, makes his bed, sweeps or dusts or wart through 'Malcolm Cassidy's' website - repeating comments on either extreme (swooning sycophants and raging haters that Felix wanted to hit with every comment - though Peter just laughed) or replied to things on  _Malcolm's_ email. Peter had told him to lie one way or another when it came to why he couldn't do a booksigning, why he wouldn't go on tour and therefore couldn't be at this Barnes & Noble but of course the paperback will be out soon.

"You never go out for book things," Felix says this afternoon while Peter's throwing a tennis ball up in the air and catching it without looking.

"Nope."

"Is it because of your father?"

"Yes." Peter grins, and something about his attention is  _warm._ "How did you guess?"

"You're hiding from him and ready to leave if he finds you." Felix presses his lips together. "Do you need... _help?"_

"It wasn't like that."

"All right," Felix drops it, although he isn't so certain.

"I ran away, I'll have you know. That's why I published Neverland."

Felix blinks, not quite following this tangent.

"As romantic as books make it seem, teen runaways tend to have the opposite time. I published so I could have fun after I ran off."

"Why are you telling me?"

"Becuase you're looking at me like you think he used to hit me with his cane. To have my careful planning and and my books reduced down to some defensive mewling... _cry,_ I won't have that."

Felix nods and returns to the website, scrolling through. From his periphery he sees Peter fish his phone from a pocket and hears the groan thereafter.

"Shit." He mutters and then raises his voice. "Felix."

"Yes, Peter?"

"Put up a word document. It's time to get writing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if you think, from this point, the story is going to turn into _Alex & Emma_ you're really not that far off...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick FYI, I'm considering **removing** this story and re-uploading it once it's complete. I'm having a hard time handling pacing trying to do this chapter-by-chapter thing and I feel like writing on the fly is wrecking the quality even more than I thought it would. I might keep up the first five chapters and then delete it once I get the new version up, I'm not sure. Thought I'd give ya'll a head's up though. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Peter's writing process, if you could call it that, involves Peter lying flat on his back in bed, ankles crossed up on the headboard, tossing a beanbag up in the air with one hand and catching it with the other. The blank word document seems to mock Felix as he sits on the cold ground next to the coffee table, hands over home row on the laptop.

All he can hear is Peter's breathing and the muted thud of a beanbag's descent into a soft palm.

The amount of times a day Felix wonders if the universe and, in turn, Peter are just fucking with him is getting a bit too high for comfort.

Especially considering Peter's been lying like that, staring at the ceiling and his damn beanbag, for about forty minutes. It's getting ridiculous and Felix can feel the hard lump in his throat when he asks, "Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"If you're narrating in your head I can't do any typing."

To this, Peter sits up, still facing the wall and spirals around with his spine. For a kid who just sits around doing nothing all day, he's got a decent amount of flexibility there. Maybe he does yoga in his spare time or something. "That's quite the attitude you're wearing," He breathes deep and returns to his stasis on the mattress. "Coming up with a good first line cannot be underestimated."

"Isn't that what revision's for? But you have to start."

Peter growls. "Which one of us is the published author here?"

And Felix can't bite back, can't say anything even if he wants to and doesn't know how long this random spurt of confidence will last, but he looks back down at the blank screen, cursor blinking at him with a sort of taunting vindication, daring him to mar the white with letters and words. If only he's got the goahead.

And then, finally, after an hour and a half of silence, Peter draws a deep breath. Felix positions his fingers readily on the homerow, ready to finally see and understand the process that had spun words into gold and kept his head above water all these years.

Instead, Pan says, "I'm hungry. Order Thai for us."

An hour after that, just as Felix was finishing up the last of his Pud Broccoli curry, Peter sits up and, draining the last of his Coke down his throat, begins to speak, " _Time. Youth's eternal enemy and, in turn, the very thing Peter Pan was devoted to ignore-_ " He coughs. "Felix, you're not typing."

Placing his fork beside the laptop on the table, Felix feels about for a napkin and tries his best to remember what Peter just said. "Could you repeat that?" He asks, posing his hands over homerow.

To this, Peter groans. "The entire point of making you stenographer is so this can be done more _quickly,_ Felix. Keep up."

"Give me warning next time," Felix snaps, perhaps forgetting for a moment exactly how childish Peter can be, and readies his fingers on the keyboard. "Whenever you're ready, _boss."_

* * *

 

It's all extremely possible that Felix had been expecting something of a religious experience when he'd finally get to be part of Peter's writing process. It sounds stupid now, and he doesn't think he was waiting for the sky to open up and all the answers to life's darkest questions handed to him on a silver platter, but he was hoping for something...else.

Something other than getting sore fingers as Peter prattles off word after word and paragraph after paragraph and Felix winces every time he makes a typo, because there's no time to fix in it the midst of the hurricane of poetry hurled at him from Peter's mouth and everything is probably getting lost in transcription but all he can do is keep going and strive for par at the very least.

If nothing else, he's starting to get the rhythm of it, the way Peter will stop and pause mid sentence and press on with some semblance of added weight. Felix only hopes his clamoring over the keyboard is a decent enough lens to capture the effect.

The plot is neat and laid out thus far, supported on firm legs by the other books. Everything in the series has led up to this. Pan's time is running out, the hourglass will be empty soon, and he's finally retrieved the Truest Believer. Things are never neat and tidy on Neverland, however, and the Believer's family is chasing after him, deluded into thinking they know best.

And it's clear from Pan's demeanor that he plans to make them topple over like dominoes. They're on his first target by the tenth day of writing, already seventy pages in thanks to Felix pulling long hours and Peter calling him at three in the morning after day six and prattling off pages for Felix to copy down. Needless to say it's very, very exhausting.

But it's coming along. It's conversational and easy, if only from Peter's point of view, and all he does is copy down the words.

So Pan's on his first target. She, a blonde woman with her history mapped out in the stress on her face, is not the easiest one to fell but certainly the most interesting and, in a skewed way that Pan can perceive with intuition and with an artistry that only Peter could fuse together in synecdoche, she is surely the weakest link. And so Felix copies down the words as Pan goes to ensnare her in his web. Felix's fingers twitch, excited to see what happens next.

 

> _With the blade, sladed and cold pressed against Pan's neck, his winded breath, feigning surprise, and subsequent snicker could be heard rumbling through the island itself if only his troops were awake to hear it. Never deterred, Pan whispered to belie his gasp. "You've got fire. I like fire."_
> 
> _Stone cold and never to be deterred, the woman frowned and made her demands. "Where's my son?"_
> 
> _"Henry's alive if that's what you're worried about."_
> 
> _Oh yes, she was an interesting one. A spitfire of a human, Pan thought, but glass. She was glass, so easy to shatter and just as satisfying. She was still fragile and pretending not to tremor under the wind when she lowered her brow and tightened her frown. "Why'd you take him?"_
> 
> _What else could Pan give but the truth?_
> 
> _"He's a very special boy, Emma."_
> 
> _"I_ know. _That doesn't answer my question. What do you want with him?"_
> 
> _Pan snickered. The crease in her brow, the wavering in her stance. Living on Neverland, Pan had seen his fiar share of people playing pretend and this was the most transparent costume he'd seen. And yet. Yet this Emma was determined, reinforced, and spoon fed her specialties._
> 
> _"I came to see who I was up against," Pan said, allowing his voice to carry a grandiose vabrado. "The savior-"_

 

"What does that mean?" Felix blinks up from the screen to see Peter fit snugly in the window, watching the New York passersby with limited to no interest.

"Oh, her? She broke some curse once.'

"And that qualifies her as a savior?"

"She was written in it to break it," Peter shrugs as though it doesn't matter.

"Are you releasing that book first?"

Peter scrunches his nose and shakes his head. "That story isn't worth telling. At least considering the rate it wears out its welcome."

"You want your readers to pick this up..intuitively." Felix offers.

"Weren't you the one who said everything can be changed in revision?" Peter spits back.

And Felix can't argue, and so he shrugs and repositions his tired fingers. "Go on."

So far, it's not Peter's best work. Not even close. The new characters feel stale and, as much as Felix enjoys typing through the days in the Lost Boy camp trying to initiate Henry it all feels...safe. As though the last few books wroth of brutality was too much and Peter fancies his readers better off informed about life in camp. Felix can't help but blame himself for the lack of inspiration. He's probably acting like a thorn in Peter's side and spoiling everything. But when he suggests he return to chores so Peter can write without his meddling, Peter stared at him with something resembling so much surprise Felix knew that he ought to just stand up straight and do...whatever it was he was needed for.


End file.
